Brothers through it all
by ds96
Summary: Dean learns sam has been abused and hurt by the one closest to them, and is left to pick up the pieces. Teen!chester - Sam- 14 Dean-18 . Lots of protective!Dean and Hurt!/Angsty!Sam - Please review if you want me to keep writing :)
1. Chapter 1

S14 d18

Sam woke to the sound of crashing and sound effects on the television across the room. He didn't open his eyes at first, just silently acknowledged to himself that he had awoken, comfortably pulling his arms and blankets closer to his chest, enjoying the final moments of comfort he had left. He was becoming more aware of the sounds around him; the television was showing a children's' cartoon, and it sounded like the characters were having a brawl. Dean was laughing goofily at whatever was happening in the show; _he's far too old for cartoons, _he thought jokingly to himself, _what a loser. _

Sam opened his eyes now; he was facing the brick wall to his left. It was bright in the room; it must have been around 9 o'clock. Sam continued to listen carefully, scanning for any sounds besides Dean's laughter and the cartoon, but could hear nothing. Sam shut his eyes again, so to appear as though he were still asleep, and rolled over so that he faced Dean's now unmade bed. He opened his eyes slowly, so that he could see around him but nobody else could tell that he was up. He could see in the corner of his eye the shadow of dean, sprawled out on the couch with his legs up on the coffee table watching TV. His eyes open fully now, he scanned the room, noting that John was not present.

His body relaxed and he threw the blankets off of himself, pulling his legs over to the side and standing. He grunted slightly at the tight cramping he felt in his chest, but simply limited his movement in order to deafen the pain. He walked toward the couch, running his hand through his hair and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dean didn't seem to notice his arrival until Sam dropped onto the couch next to him. Dean seemed startled and pulled his legs back from the coffee table, letting out a gasp, as he looked Sam's way.

Smiling now, "Hey, little brother!" The delight in Dean's voice wasn't unusual, but Sam loved hearing it. Though he'd never admit it to his brother; it just made him feel good.

"Hey" Sam replied groggily. While disinterested, he asked for conversation's sake "what's on?"

"No idea. Some cartoon, nothing better on."

The boys sat in silence for some minutes. "Where's dad?" Sam queried. His voice was shaky on the last word, but Dean didn't seem to notice.

"Dad? He was gone when I woke up. Probably out interviewing witnesses or something"

John had dragged the boys along to somewhere in Missouri, in search of what he suspected was some sort of shape shifter. Several people had gone missing, and a couple had turned up dead, so John was out looking for the culprit.

The brothers continued watching TV for hours. Dean mindlessly flicked through channels and settled on a football game; something he enjoyed but Sam did not. Sam didn't mind though, he watched anyway, attempting to interest himself to save himself the boredom.

The shows became repetitive, and neither Dean nor Sam could handle the boredom anymore. De an told Sam that he was going out to get some food, maybe see where dad had got to. Sam asked him to pick up a burger for him and proceeded to read one of the books Bobby had given him a while ago on lore.

Sam actually took interest in this stuff, so he was happy to spend his time doing this; Dean and John sometimes got Sam to research for them while they were out on hunts, so Sam saw that reading was of some use.

Dean returned to the motel room around 3. He'd been out for about four hours, and he smelt of cigarettes and fast food. Sam didn't mind, Dean had come through with a burger and some soda to silence Sam's growling stomach. He threw the bad of food onto the couch, and placed his drink on the coffee table next to Sam's feet. Dean switched the TV back onto some crime show and sat back down next to Sam; finally, something good was on.

"You see dad?" Sam asked Dean, remembering his purpose for leaving in the first place.

"Nah. Don't worry, he'd call if he were in any trouble"

"I'm not worried." Sam responded, seeming a little more serious than usual. Dean brushed it off with a huff, and they continued watching the TV.

A few minutes passed when the boys saw the silhouette of a tall man coming past the window behind the television. The door handle twisted, and John opened the door, having to use a little force to push it. He coughed loudly, interrupting the conversation Sam and Dean had been having about the book Sam was reading.

Dean greeted his father pleasingly, but Sam's body stiffened and he removed his feet from the coffee table, pushing his knees together and putting his arms in his lap. Dean, squinting, noticed Sam's strange behavior and gave him a curious look, but ignored it and conversed with his father.

"Any luck?" dean asked the older man.

"Eh, some other hunters turned up, already took care of the job - assholes." John replied in a joking manner, but evidently a little ticked off that someone had beaten him to the shape shifter.

"Huh" was all Dean returned. John grabbed some pizza from the other day out of the mini-fridge and sat at the table across from the boys. Sam shot a look Dean's way, his face showed little concern. Sam, on the other hand, knew what this meant. John didn't have anything to do, _great. _He finished the pizza and headed for the door again._  
_"'M goin' out for a drink. Don't wait up" and with that, John was back out the door, picking up his keys and wallet on the way out.

Sam awoke once again to a sound coming from his left. Looking down past his bed, he saw that it was John entering the room. Noticeably stumbling, John struggled through the door and threw his keys and jacket onto the coffee table. It was dark and silent, and, looking to his right, Sam saw Dean sleeping restfully in his bed, breathing heavily. Sam shot a glance to the digital alarm clock on his bedside table, which told him it was 1:00am. John grumbled something and dropped onto the couch for several minutes, Sam continued watching him, unable to sleep now. John's bed was up past Sam and Dean's, and, as John stood and began to drunkenly make his way to his bed, Sam again held his eyes shut so that he didn't appear awake. He could hear John's uneven footsteps, and when they abruptly stopped, Sam had assumed that John had successfully made it to his bed. _He was wrong. _

Assuming he was alone once again, Sam opened his eyes, only to find John towering over him as he rested, wearing an evil looking smirk on his face, his eyes appeared tired and bloodshot. John pulled his index finger to his lip, indicating to Sam not to wake Dean, and grabbed Sam by the collar of his white t-shirt, pulling him up and out of bed with force.

Startled and panicked, Sam gasped but remembered the gesture his father had given him seconds earlier. If Sam were to wake Dean now, John would be even angrier.

"_Dad stop! W-What are you doing?!" _Sam whispered to his father, though he knew very well what he was doing. John silently opened the front door again and pushed Sam out the door, following behind him with his hand around the back of Sam's neck.

Immediately as the door opened, Sam felt the blistering cold come in and slap him in the face. He was wearing only a thin t-shirt and some boxer shorts, and the temperature was near freezing. It had been snowing earlier that day, and the ground, while no snow had settled, remained slippery and icy from the coldness.

John swung Sam around to face him, almost falling over himself as he did so. He was clearly drunk out of his mind – Sam could only imagine how many drinks had fuelled this drunken rage. John's grip – while weaker than when he was sober – remained stronger than Sam, he was only fourteen years of age, and his tall yet lanky build left him relatively weak compared to his largely built father and older brother.

Sam didn't know why his father was mad at him, he didn't have to know. John was mad, and that was all that mattered. He was always mad when he was drunk, and if he was mad, it meant he was mad at Sam. Sam didn't know why that was, it just was.

The blinds on the inside of the Winchesters' motel room were closed over the window outside of which Sam and John now stood. Even if Dean did awaken, he wouldn't see them. John pushed Sam a little farther along the pavement outside the room. There were two more motel room doors leading to other rooms along this side of the building, but they were far too far away for the people inside to hear anything. Not that John was being loud anyway, he was careful not to let dean hear.

John slammed Sam's skinny body up against the brick wall, Sam felt the cold that came off the bricks against the back of his legs and his back. His spine throbbed a little where john had pushed him against the wall, but Sam knew that was nothing compared to what was to come. John let out an angry huff, looking at Sam with wild disappointment and rage. He pulled his right arm back and made his hand into a firm fist, and in a quick movement, punched Sam right in his stomach. Sam let out a long wheeze; his father had winded him. He bent forward, almost doubling over, but John held him by his neck against the wall. John repeated the punches three times over, so hard that even John was getting the wind knocked out of him with every punch. The last punch went right at Sam's ribcage, where he was already wounded from a couple nights before, when Sam and John had got into an argument about Sam's wishes to return home. Sam heard the crack before he felt it, a blinding pain spreading from his ribs throughout his body. Sam let out a slight yell and a sob. Falling forward, this time John didn't hold him up. Sam dropped to the ground and rolled into the fetal position, with his arms wrapped around his chest, gasping for air still. John placed the sole of his foot upon Sam's neck, not pushing down hard enough to hurt him, just enough to scare him.

John laughed cruelly at Sam's pain. He stumbled away, and Sam could hear the sound of John's throwing up in some bushes nearby.

John fumbled back inside, forgetting to close the door behind him, and stumbled into bed, satisfied.

Sam lay motionless for several more minutes, before dragging himself to the door. He crawled inside, careful not to make too much noise, and gently closed the door behind him. He wanted to stand, just to show John that he hadn't hurt him that bad, but when he tried, the pain stemming from his ribcage only worsened. Sam crawled to the edge of his bed and climbed in, letting out a sob as he did so.

_Why me? Why does he have to hate me so much? What have I done? _Sam thought to himself as he gently pulled the covers back over his body. He felt his body shaking as he wept uncontrollably, trying with every inch of energy in his body to keep the sounds to himself, so that the other Winchesters didn't hear. The pillow felt saturated underneath his face, and he could taste the salt from his tears. Sam longed for sleep, to escape the memories of the events that had occurred that night and every other night he and John argued. He wanted nothing more than to forget what his father had been beating into him for the last year or so; Sam was a failure. He knew that. Why couldn't he just be like Dean? His father didn't love him, he was sure of it. Sam forced his eyes shut and wouldn't allow himself to think anymore.

"Sam, get up." The voice of dean calling at Sam from across the room went unheard by the youngest Winchester. "Sam!" Dean called a little louder this time, but Sam was still sound asleep. Dean muttered something in irritancy under his breath and stomped over the Sam's bed. "Sam!" he yelled again, pushing Sam's chest to wake him.

Sam yelped out at the sudden rush of pain that throbbed through his body, originating from his chest. He held his arms close to his chest in order to protect any more blows that John would deliver. "_Stop! Please!" _he exclaimed.

Dean stood silently for a moment "whoa, sorry buddy" he spoke gently to Sam. Sam didn't respond, he looked up at Dean in relief and loosened the grip he had around his torso. Dean could see the look in Sam's eyes – terror. He assumed it must have been a nightmare or something. "Sammy?" he waited a moment and Sam didn't reply. Sam's breathing was fast and shaky. "You alright?" he slowly placed a hand upon Sam's shoulder.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Dean could tell Sam wasn't alright, but he left it for now.

"Bad dream?"

"Mmm" was all Sam replied. The look in Sam's eyes told Dean he was lying.

"Well we gotta leave kiddo, we're headed back to Bobby's. Lets go"

Sam groaned and reluctantly pulled himself out of bed, wincing and gasping at the pains he felt. Dean was walking away now, but looked over his shoulder at Sam, hearing the gasp, but pretending not to.

Sam looked at the clock that read 7:43am. Dean had packed he and Sam's bags, and they were waiting at the front door for them to leave.

"Where's John?" Sam asked Dean, his voice shaky on his father's name. Dean was a little suspicious now; Sam never called him John – only dad or sir.  
"He's at reception, checking out. Come on" the boys walked out to the impala, Sam looked behind him at the spot where john had beaten him senseless the night before. Dean jumped in the front of the car after throwing the bags in the trunk. Sam opened the door and sat in the back seat, behind the driver's seat – he didn't want to be in John's line of sight.

"Gee Sammy you look terrible. What's up?" Dean sounded concerned as he looked back at Sam from his seat.

"Uh, bad night's sleep. That's all" Sam replied, noticing how panicked he sounded already.

"Huh. Well you better get some rest sleeping beauty, Bobby's got a job waiting for us back at Sioux Falls."

John returned to the car on that note, and, as he jumped into the driver's seat, dean couldn't help but notice Sam stiffen at the sight of his father. He lowered his eyebrows at Sam, but he was purposely avoiding his gaze.

"_Morning Sammy" _John spoke to Sam in a voice that seemed patronizing only to Sam, and john knew it.

"Morning"

After driving for about 5 hours, john and dean swapped seats so that john could rest for a while, he was hung-over from the night before, but Sam knew that he could remember what happened when he'd returned. Dean had only got his license about a year ago, when he was 17, and loved driving the Impala when John let him. Dean pulled a face at Sam from the driver's seat, and Sam laughed in reply. They set off driving again, with another 6 hours left before their arrival. Sam rested his head against the window and tried to sleep.

Sam awoke again as the car drove past the _Welcome to Sioux Falls _sign. He sat up, wiping his eyes and stretching his arms out in front of him, ignoring the pain in his chest that it caused. John was driving again now, and dean was playing around with the radio stations.

A few minutes later the impala was pulling into Bobby's scrapyard. The Winchesters stepped out of the vehicle, and Sam felt dizzy and lightheaded from the sudden movement. He turned to face the car and held himself up by pushing his hands against the car. He closed his eyes at winced at the throbbing in his ribs, something definitely wasn't right. Dean could tell.

"Hey Sammy, you alright?" dean asked with concern in his voice. He placed his hand against Sam's back, and Sam sighed.

"Yeah, just a little tired is all. What time is it?"

"It's about 10. You better get to bed"

Dean and Sam collected their bags from the trunk and followed John inside. Bobby was seated on the couch and was watching some football on the television. He shook John's hand and hugged the boys – they hadn't seen eachother in about 4 months. John and Dean sat with Bobby to watch TV as Sam headed off to Bobby's spare room, where beds for he and Dean were situated. Just as he closed the door, John stormed in and slammed it behind him.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing boy?" he asked quietly, yet with anger.

"What d'you mean?" Sam asked with fear in his voice.

"You know what I mean. Dean knows something's up – anyone with half a brain can see what you're doing. I swear to god Sam, if you tell him _anything _I will rip you to shreds" Sam was a little taken aback by the words his father spoke. On the last word, John stepped right up to Sam, so he was only inches away, and forcefully poked Sam's chest with his index finger. Sam gasped in terror, afraid of what he might do to him. _No, Dean and Bobby are right outside. He wont do anything. _He assured himself.

John laughed a little, noticing the fear that Sam felt. Sam was embarrassed that his father could see how weak he was. This was only going to make matters worse – John knew what he had been doing to Sam was taking its toll. Sam was emotionally and physically drained. He had taken one too many beatings. John grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the wall, Sam dropped his bag and gasped. Johns fingers were tightening around Sam's neck, he couldn't breathe, gasping for air was hopeless. Sam wrapped his hands around his fathers, but his grip was far too tight. Sam's feeble attempts to get air were rendered useless, only making little noises that simply provided John with more pleasure.

"You're pathetic" John sneered, letting go of Sam's neck just moments before he would have lost consciousness. Sam rubbed his neck where he was sure it had bruised, gasping in air, thankful for every bit of oxygen he could get. His eyes had watered from being strangled, but he sobbed now too.

"Why do you do this?" He asked, already regretting saying it the moment the words came from his mouth.

"You know why. Somewhere, deep down, you know why. You've ruined my life, Dean's too, but most of all, you ruined your _mother's._ You're nothing but a murderer. Don't you ever think for one second that her death wasn't your fault." John's voice was filled with fury, but also deep sadness. He looked as though he was about to cry, and he stormed out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stood there, unmoving for several moments. He listened as his father opened the door and slammed it behind him. He didn't move away so fast, from the way it sounded John stood there motionless, just as Sam did, on opposite sides on the wall. Sam imagined him gathering his emotions together again, readying himself to move back into the presence of Dean and Bobby.

He wasn't sure what to think, what to say to himself. Sam had truly believed that his father's motivation for his hatred towards him was simply fuelled by Sam's inability to hunt the way Dean and John could. Sam's judgment was clouded by emotion, he couldn't shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later the way Dean and John did. He was weak, emotionally and physically, and his brother and father often had to do the nasty work. It wasn't that Sam was physically incapable – most of the time anyway – he was just too sensitive. Maybe his father's beatings were meant to toughen him up – make him a better hunter. At least, that's what Sam had believed before now.

Sam thought back to what his father had said to him, _You've ruined my life. Dean's too. You ruined your mother's. _No, stop. Sam couldn't do this to himself. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. His father's harsh words replayed over and over again in his head - _you're nothing but a murderer._

_Nothing but a murderer._

_Murderer. _

The palms of Sam's hands against the floor were all that held him up. His body was shaking mercilessly, he watched as tear after tear dropped to the ground below him, forming a small puddle. He couldn't breathe. Sam had to control himself; Dean could walk in any second. He took three deep breaths. Sniffled. Wiped his cheeks. Stood.

Picking up his bag once again, Sam hadn't the strength to change. He threw off his jeans and jacket and dropped onto the bed, not even taking the time to cover himself with the blankets. The room was chilled, but Sam didn't leave room in his thoughts to think about the temperature, he thought only of his mother. He had no memories of her, only what he'd seen in photographs. He felt no guilt towards John; he just couldn't, not after how he'd treated him. Sam was sorry to Mary; sorry that he'd ended her life so soon. But most of all, Sam was sorry to Dean. _I ruined Dean's life. _Sam thought of all the tears Dean had shed over Mary's death, the way his eyes showed sadness when he spoke her name, Sam had taken her away from Dean. _I'm so sorry Dean, _Sam thought to himself, unable to tell whether he had spoken the words aloud or just thought them.

Sam lay awake in his bed for many hours, trapped in a state of consciousness by his own thoughts. He thought of running away, but he had nowhere to go, nobody to take him in. Sam wished for death, wished he'd never been born. He imagined Dean's life without him – it didn't seem so bad. Mary was alive, John was happy once again, a real father. Dean was happy, loved.

_Maybe if I sleep, I won't wake up, _Sam thought to himself hopefully, but knowing all too well that his thoughts were unrealistic. He finally stopped thinking, felt close to falling asleep, until Dean entered. Dean moved quietly, silently changing into something he could sleep in, careful not to wake his little brother. But Sam was awake already, he almost ran straight into Dean's arms. Dean softly stepped towards Sam's bed and Sam squinted so that he appeared asleep. He felt Dean gently take off Sam's shoes and pull the covers from Sam's feet up and over his body. Dean stepped back and tucked himself into bed; Sam thought of jumping out of bed and getting into Dean's, falling asleep in Dean's arms would be so much easier. But he couldn't, Dean would ask what was wrong, and Sam couldn't tell him, what if Dean agreed with his father?

Sam could cope with his father's hatred, but he knew he couldn't go on if Dean hated him too.

"Night Sammy" Dean whispered from across the room, just incase Sam was still up.

Sam's tears began to fall once again, he couldn't say anything back, Dean would hear the sadness in his voice. _Goodnight Dean, _he thought to himself, wishing Dean could hear his thoughts, _I truly am sorry._

Sam didn't dream that night. Or at least, if he did, he didn't remember. He woke as though he had been startled by a nightmare, but wasn't sure why. He turned his body over, not sure what the time was - there wasn't a clock in this room. For once, Sam had awoken before Dean, he was fast asleep, with his head under the pillow and his right leg sticking out of the covers at an angle that didn't look quite possible. Dean's breathing was deep and a little snore could be heard every time he exhaled. Sam wandered tiredly from his bed and into the bathroom across the hall; thankful he didn't run into John between rooms. After using the toilet, Sam switched on the shower and locked the door. He turned to look at himself in the already fogged up mirror above the sink. Dark circles were situated under his eyes, and his chestnut brown hair was spiked up on one side from how he'd been sleeping. Remembering the events that had unfolded the night before, Sam leaned towards the mirror in order to examine his neck. Two slight yellow bruises had formed at the front of his neck, each where John's thumbs had pressed into his skin. Pulling his skin around to the side, two more arcs of bruises coloured light purple and blue formed in a strip down both sides of his neck, where the remainder of John's fingers had imprinted on him. The bruises weren't dark, but in broad daylight they would be hard to miss.

_Shit, _he whispered.

Secretly wishing that the water would wash away the bruises, Sam prepared himself for the shower that he knew would be cold – Bobby's hot water usually lasted about 10 seconds. Sam tucked his hands behind his head, gripping the top of the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head before tossing it into the corner of the room. Looking down, Sam almost yelled out in shock at the sight of his chest and stomach. He was littered with blues, greens, yellows, purples – it almost would have been beautiful if they weren't markings of his cruel father's acts of violence. The left side of his chest, right where his ribcage felt cracked, was covered in a huge, deeply coloured purple and blue contusion, Sam thought it was probably about the size of his hand. To test his theory, Sam ever so gently pressed his left hand against it, gasping at the throbs that his touch sent through his body – he was wrong, it was slightly bigger - he removed his hand and continued to investigate his injuries. His stomach was spotted with smaller; green and yellow bruises, and one bruise that stretched from the right side of his chest around to his side, just under his underarm. That one was the oldest, John had kicked him while he was down about two weeks ago – at the time Sam had thought that must have been the most pain he'd ever been in. Sam couldn't move without aching for days after, but it barely hurt to touch now. It still remained quite dark, a mixture of pinks, purples, yellows and greens, slightly darker in the center and light around the edges. _What a dick. _

Sam welcomed the unexpectedly warm water that flowed from the showerhead. Under the water, Sam was thankful he had no lacerations, he knew how bad that stung; the water almost felt nice on his bruises, except for the largest one on his chest, the stream was coming out with a little too much force. Sam ignored the pain, and quickly cleaned his skin and washed his hair with soap – there was no shampoo in Bobby's shower. The floor was slippery from the layer of grime that had developed over time; Sam wondered when the last time Bobby cleaned this thing was, he almost felt like he was getting dirtier just being in there. Sam turned off the water just as it started going cold; he silently apologized to Dean for using all the hot water. Stepping out, Sam realized the mistake he had made – he forgot to bring in a change of clothes. Usually he'd just walk back to his room with a towel wrapped around his waist, but they'd see the bruises all over his upper body if he did that now.

Sam pulled on his dirty shirt again, and wrapped his lower half in the towel. He realized how strange his current attire would look to anyone else, so Sam could only hope that he didn't run into anyone. Walking back into his room, Dean was annoyingly still asleep. Sam dropped his towel and pulled on a fresh pair of boxer shorts, and collected up a clean red t-shirt and his brown jacket. He double-checked behind him to see if Dean was still asleep – he was. He quickly changed, ensuring that he faced away from Dean just incase he woke.

Sam had found a solution to the markings on his neck – he popped up the colour on his jacket and exited the room. Sam took a deep breath and walked into Bobby's study. Unfortunately for Sam, John was there when he woke this time. Sam sighed just quiet enough for only he to hear as he walked in on Bobby and John checking out a map that Bobby had spread out on his desk. From where he stood, Sam could see a few red crosses drawn on the map marking some areas of significance. John didn't look up when he walked in, but Bobby stopped mid-sentence and gave Sam a crooked half smile.

"Morning _princess" _he laughed, gesturing to the wall clock to his right. Sam looked over curiously and saw the time – it was almost half ten.

"Huh – morning Bobby" Sam responded, as he walked out he spoke softly "..Dad"

John just grunted in reply and he and Bobby continued discussing the case. Sam popped two slices of bread in the toaster, and grabbed some cold fried chicken from the fridge. He gobbled up the chicken before the toaster had even popped – he hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before. He searched through Bobby's pantry for a few minutes before giving up, and ate the toast slices with nothing on them. He was too hungry to care.

Sam stood around for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do. Dean's duffle was still in the lounge room, so Sam reached in after checking that Dean was still asleep and jacked a cigarette and his zippo. Smoking was a habit Dean had recently picked up a few months ago, he informed Sam that it was a stupid thing to do, but he was only doing it for a little while.

"_The chicks dig the look"_ Sam remembers Dean telling him. Sam had only ever smoked twice in his life – once, just after Dean had said that previous line, he let Sam take a drag. Sam coughed a little, partly in embarrassment as Dean chuckled. And again, at his last school a couple weeks ago. Sam skipped a class one day after he was late to school – John had refused to drive him and Dean was still in bed. Sam didn't want to walk in late because it meant there would be attention on him, so he wandered around the grounds and came across a group of tenth graders smoking behind the sports shed. They offered Sam a cigarette and he welcomed the strangers' friendliness (at most schools Sam went to, the older kids didn't talk to the younger ones). He didn't really want one, but thought it would seem rude not to accept. He also partly accepted while keeping in mind what Dean had told him earlier. The group consisted of three boys and two girls, one of the girls was named Katherine, but she called herself Katie. She had jet-black hair pulled up in a tight bun and wore dark eye makeup and lipstick and black clothes, but she was nice to Sam. Sam thought she was beautiful, though she had a nose piercing in her septum that reminded him a little of a bull. He laughed slightly at the thought, but nevertheless couldn't help staring at her pretty blue eyes.

Sam didn't see Katie again after that day; he, his brother and father had left two days later to head to Missouri for that shape shifter job.

Sam smiled a little at the thought of Katie, and he wondered what she must have been up to then. _Probably at school_, he thought as he stepped out the front door, careful not to let anyone hear the door close. He walked around the side of the house and sat behind a car in the scrapyard. He'd forgotten how cold it was out there, or he would have put on his winter jacket. Sam liked the way the smoke curled off the cigarette, and enjoyed the lightheaded feeling that followed each time he inhaled. He felt pretty grown up as he held the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, especially because he didn't cough once.

He could hear footsteps approaching behind him on the gravel, but knew it was too late for him to hide his cigarette anyway. Dean turned around the corner of the car behind which Sam sat and raised his eyebrows at the sight of his brother, before he laughed a little to himself. It wasn't the kind of laugh that was patronizing, or mean, it was the kind that said _that's my brother._ Dean thought it a little uncanny how similar Sam was to him sometimes, and he sat down across from him, leaning against a large piece of scrap metal and placed a cigarette in his own mouth.

"Sorry" Sam apologized to Dean for stealing his cigarette. Dean looked at him and smiled as he winked simultaneously.

"s'okay" he responded, holding out his hand for the lighter. Sam tossed it into Deans hand and the flame flashed in front of Dean's face several times before the end of the cigarette lit. "But you better not go through my bag ever again". Sam acknowledged Dean's warning with a grunt as they both laughed a little.

The boys sat in silence for a minute, and Sam patted out his cigarette on a rock near his feet.

"Sammy..." Dean began, but seemed to trail off in his own thoughts for a minute, lost for words. Sam looked up at Dean patiently, waiting for the words that followed. "Something's up with you. And don't you tell me there isn't cause there is. Now you wanna talk about it or not?"

Sam was silent, mentally searching for a response. He didn't realize how long he'd taken to think of something to say until Dean spoke again.

"Sammy? Hey!" Sam got a little startled and looked up quickly. Dean was still leaning against the big piece of metal behind him, with his legs bent so that his knees were up in front of his head, with his arms resting against them. His body language indicated that he was relaxed, but his facial expression said different. Dean was worried, maybe even scared, Sam could tell. Had he really been that obvious?

Several scenarios flashed before Sam's eyes. To tell Dean or not to tell Dean?

What if Dean got mad at Sam? Or worse, what if Dean got mad at John, and John got even madder at Sam? But then another scenario entered Sam's mind.

_What if it were Dean? _

What if John were beating Dean without Sam's knowledge? Sam would want to know. He had to. Sam thought about how angry that would make him, but if he and Dean were to swap places, he knew what he would want Dean to do.

Sam sighed a little in surrender. And stood slowly. Dean looked at little confused but didn't move, assuming Sam was going to walk away.

Sam stood there for a minute, just looking at Dean. Dean knew something was up now. The look on Sam's face showed him fear, regret, sadness, sorrow.

"Sammy?" he said, trying to provide Sam with some encouragement to open up.

Sam unzipped his jacket and pulled it off, Dean didn't notice the bruises on his neck, but that was not what Sam was going to show him. Sam looked up into the sky, trying to avoid Dean's view. But he couldn't resist looking at his brother for the support, Dean still looked confused, completely puzzled, but worried. Both of the brothers were breathing unusually fast now, Sam ultimately in fear and regret, and Dean in anticipation and concern.

Sam reached his arms behind his head, slowly. He pinched the top of the back of his shirt and forced his eyes shut – he was afraid he'd cry. Slowly and carefully, he pulled the neck of his shirt over his head.

Dean was watching now more carefully than ever. Sam's shirt was over his head now.

He pulled it down further, and a tear fell from his eye. Sam quickly collected himself emotionally and stopped crying; he didn't think Dean had seen him cry.

The shirt had reached Sam's chest, and he knew this was the final moment he had before Dean would see the horror that was Sam's torso. He sighed loudly, and threw the shirt to the ground.

Silence.

Dean's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, he took in a huge gasp and his chest rose up and down as he breathed slowly and deeply. He stood slowly, and stared at Sam's chest.

"Dean…" Sam whispered pleadingly, "please say something."

Dean stepped forward steadily and approached Sam. His lips were shaking as though he were about to cry. He reached his right arm forward at a slow pace, afraid to hurt Sam any more. He stopped his fingers just millimeters away from the bruises on Sam's body, and mouthed the words _Oh my God, _and finally looked away. Making eye contact with Sam, Sam's cheeks were trailed with tears.

"Who…who did this to you Sammy?" Dean sounded absolutely horrified.

Sam wanted nothing more than to tell Dean it was the kids at school.

"You know who." Sam thought he sounded unmistakably blunt, and regretted how he'd spoken to Dean immediately.

"No Sammy, that can't be right. Please tell me that's not right..." Dean was crying now too.

Sam didn't respond, just looked at Dean. His eyes said it all.

Dean's cheekbones tensed as he clenched his teeth together. He slammed his hand against the car behind Sam as he yelled, "I'll _kill _him!"

He walked off towards to house, at a pace so fast he was almost jogging.

"Dean!" Sam called after him, but to no response. Dean couldn't hear anything, not over the anger that overwhelmed his body.

Sam pulled his shirt back on and ran after Dean, catching up just as Dean slammed the front door behind him.

Bobby spoke first, "Dean? What the _hell _do you think you're doin, ya idjit?"

Dean didn't respond to Bobby, John stood up straight and faced Dean as he almost started running towards him. John looked at Sam's face behind Dean's, and realized what had happened.

"Dean..." John started, holding the palms of his hands up towards Dean to signify his peace. He hadn't the chance to continue, Dean shoved him into the wall behind them, knocking the wind out of John.

"YOU BASTARD!" He screamed in John's face, before Bobby held his arm against Dean's chest in order to hold Dean back.

"Hey! I _said, what the hell do you think you're doin'?!" _Bobby yelled, pushing Dean back.

"I should _kill _you right here! Who the hell do you think you are, huh? You're pathetic! What kind of _father _are you?!" Dean raised his pointer finger and sternly held it up in front of John's face.

Sam was afraid for Dean now; he knew what John was capable of.

"Dean!" His voice was quiet and vulnerable.

Sam admitted it to himself, he was a little afraid for him too.

John gave his attention to Sam now, he laughed at him, sounding almost as though he pitied Sam.

"You're _so_ _weak" _he tormented, hearing the smile in his voice. John started laughing madly; _he sounds crazy, _Sam thought.

"Don't you speak another fucking word to him! You hear me?" Dean warned.

"Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" Bobby pleaded, not realizing how serious the situation truly was.

"Sam!" Dean gestured for Sam to come closer. He was scared, John was so close, but he didn't dare disobey Dean at this moment.

Bobby removed his arm from Dean's chest, Dean wasn't facing his attention on John anymore, but he still watched him like a hawk. John was furious at Sam; he looked at him with utter disgust.

Sam stopped a couple feet away from Dean, but Dean gripped the neck of Sam's shirt to pull him a little closer, still facing John. Dean was careful not to hurt Sam; his grip was gentle, yet still firm.

Bobby looked at Sam curiously, and Sam looked down at a stain on the floor, knowing what was to come. Dean lifted Sam's shirt from the bottom, holding it right up so that Bobby could see every marking on his body.

Bobby didn't react with anything but complete and utter fury.

Sam thought he could almost hear the anger flowing through Bobby's body. He still didn't look up, but he heard the _thump_ as Bobby landed a punch right on the left side of John's face. Bobby said something, but it couldn't be heard over the sound of John's body dropping to the floor. This time Dean had to hold _Bobby_ back, telling him to calm down as John remained still on the floor. He was breathing still, but he wasn't conscious. Sam pulled his shirt back down over his chest, tears rolling down his face and dropping onto his shirt.

He stepped back and started running towards the door.


	3. Chapter 3

_What have I done?_

_Im an idiot._

_Idiot! Such an idiot! _

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

Sam whacked the back of his head against the scrappy, rusted car behind him repeatedly each time he thought the word.

_Stupid!_

Sam pressed his lips together in an attempt to smother the sounds of his weeping, but to no avail. He gave up; Sam had never cried like this before.

He couldn't silence his sorrow; he wailed and whimpered, so loud he knew he couldn't stay hidden. The sprinkling rain above his head turned to heavy streaks of droplets, the sound of the water splashing against the tin in the scrapyard vaguely covered the sounds of his cries, Sam was thankful for that.

He didn't care about the wetness, or how cold the water left him in the brisk, winter wind.

He stood; he could feel the water seeping into his boots;

"_SAM?" _the sound of Dean's call was quiet and far away, muffled by the rain and Sam's howls of sadness. Sam hushed himself, tried to gain some control. Taking a few deep breaths, blowing them out with his lips pursed. The tears stopped falling just for a moment. Dean wouldn't find him quickly; Sam had sprinted with all the speed in his body, deep into the densely packed scrapyard. It would take at least a few minutes to find him, of course that was if Dean hadn't already heard his sobbing.

Sam's nose was blocked, and as he breathed through his open mouth, the water that poured down his face flowed into his mouth, the same as it did when he positioned his head under the water flow in the shower.

_Thump _

The sound echoed a little on the beaten car as Sam slammed his forehead against the door.

He did it again, harder this time.

_THUMP_

His head ached where it had impacted, but he hadn't the room in his mind to care.

All he could think was, _what now?_

Sam had disrupted the flow of things, _where would they live? With John still? Would John still hurt him? What would Dean think?_

All this thinking was hurting Sam's head, more so than the solid piece of metal on which Sam beat his head. It kind of helped him clear his mind a little, eased the stress.

_Thump _

"_SAM! COME ON! WHERE ARE YOU?" _Dean was practically screaming, partly from the stress of things, partly so that he could be heard over the sound of the heavily pouring rain around the brothers.

Sam couldn't tell if he was crying anymore, his face was too wet to feel the tears, but he felt like he was.

_What have I done? _

_What am I doing? _

_What am I going to do?_

Those three thoughts whirl-pooled through Sam's brain, repeating over and over. The rain was getting louder and heavier. Sam's clothes and body were absolutely drenched. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear, but he knew that wasn't possible. Uncontrollable shivering racked Sam's bones, his lips were blue and he couldn't feel his fingers. _If it weren't so wet out here it'd snow, _Sam imagined. Banging his head on the car didn't help anymore, Sam couldn't hold in his feelings anymore.

He took in a huge, deep breath, and let in all out in one blistering, blood-curdling scream of absolute sadness, fear, and regret.

In the distance, Dean quickly turned his head to show a face plastered with worry, suddenly made aware of Sam's position by the sound of his scream.

"Sammy!" He ran to where he'd heard the scream as fast as he could. "Sammy," Dean repeated, puffed and relieved when he arrived at the car, with Sam's back facing towards him. Sam leant against the car with his head, his palms forcefully pressed against the car window, breathing through his teeth and completely soaked.

Dean pulled off the jacket from his shoulders, and slowly approached Sam from behind. Sam didn't move a muscle, but was aware that Dean was behind him.

Gently, Dean wrapped the jacket around Sam's shoulders, and gripped his shoulders to spin him around to face him. He softly pushed Sam's back against the car window, cupping his face in his hands. He pushed back Sam's dripping wet hair from his face with one hand and securely pushed Sam's arms through the sleeves of the jacket; Sam did not move, and allowed Dean to control his limbs as though he were a puppet.

"Hey, look at me", Dean's voice was tender and caring, his hands were softly cupped around Sam's cheeks, and he pulled his face so that it was directed towards Dean's. The brothers were both completely soaking now, and the rain continued to get heavier, but neither cared.

Dean tried to think of what to say, but his mind pulled a blank. He sighed loudly, his lips trembling both out of coldness and sadness. Sam looked at Dean, but his eyes showed little expression. He could distinguish the tears now; they were warm against the freezing cold rainwater on the rest of his face. Before he had even realized what had happened, Dean's arms were around him, gripping him tighter than he ever had before. Dean's body warmed him a little, and Sam returned the embrace with an equally tight grip. He buried his neck into Dean's chest, as Dean protectively held the back of Sam's head. Sam was weak now, he was so cold he thought he would faint, but mostly he was emotionally tired.

Dean must have sensed Sam's frailty, because he gathered Sam up into a firm princess hold like he had done when Sam was a young boy and carried him toward the house.

And that was when it occurred to him, that was all Sam was. A young boy of just fourteen years.

Too young for his voice to have deepened yet, too young for hair to grow on his face. Dean recalled it was only just a year ago when Sam had been playing with that magic kit he loved so much.

_He's just a kid. _

Sam shut his eyes and curled himself up slightly, resting the side of his head on Dean's chest. The feel of his heartbeat against his ear comforted Sam, and he placed his hands adjacent to his chest, so that they were touching him too. Sam didn't want it to be obvious that he were touching Dean on purpose, so he attempted to make it look as though that were simply how his body had fallen.

He just wanted to feel Dean. Feel his warmth, his skin, knowing that that was his brother, his big brother. He was alive, and he was there, and he was going to keep Sam safe no matter what.

As he walked, Dean looked down at Sam, his face so seemed so innocent and young. Dean tightened his grip around Sam's tall, skinny body. It was clear that Dean was thinking the very same thing that Sam was. He spoke almost too quietly for Sam to hear, in a whisper that was more to comfort himself than Sam.

"You're alright Sammy, you're alright."

"Dean? There you are" Bobby's voice was echoed with concern and fear, but the underlying elements of anger laced his words. At the sight of Sam laying limp in Dean's arms, Bobby leapt up like he'd been bitten by something, fearful that something had happened to the youngest Winchester. Sam looked as though he was asleep, but he knew that wasn't possible, not now.

"He's ok" Dean said calmly; Bobby seemed to snap back to himself now hat he knew Sam was safe. He sighed and looked down at Sam's face with pity. Sam's eyes were still forced shut, he was too afraid to seek John's eyes out. If he'd opened them, he would have seen that John was still out cold, though Bobby had dragged him up onto the couch.

Dean walked to he and Sam's bedroom and stopped at the end of Sam's bed.

"Hey, Sammy" Dean whispered gently to Sam, as he slowly brought Sam's body around so he could stand. Sam's eyes opened slowly and he put his legs out towards the floor, Dean didn't let go until he was sure Sam was stable.

"Just stay there a second ok?" he waited for Sam to nod emotionlessly in acknowledgement before he swiftly walked out to the bathroom across the hall, collecting a dry, blue towel, and running a smaller one under some cool water.

Sam's sight was fixed on the crack in the glass on the bedroom window; his thoughts were processing nothing now, a pleasant change to the busy stream of thoughts that were flowing through his head without rest just a few minutes earlier.

Dean speed walked back into the room and sat the wet hand towel on the bedside table nexdt to the boys' beds, and shaking out the dry towel in his hands before approaching Sam. He pulled a very obviously fake smile at Sam, carefully pinching the bottom of his shirt before he slowly lifted it over Sam's head. Sam's body willingly allowed Dean to move it as he pleased, and he showed no resistance to Dean's efforts to comfort him.

Dean let out a breath at the sight of Sam's body once again; he had forgotten briefly what markings John had left on his little brother. Despite his disgust and sorrow, Dean took his chance to more closely examine his brother's wounds. Sam's body still remained soaked from the rain outside, and Dean had already dried himself a little when he went into he bathroom earlier. Gentler than he ever had been, Dean wrapped the towel around Sam's torso, rubbing his skin softly to dry it. He stripped off Sam's jeans, boots and socks, dried his legs and put him in some grey sweat pants, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the bruises on Sam's chest and stomach, trying to imagine what poor Sam must have been through for… _How long?_

It occurred to Dean that throughout the day's events, he had still never learnt how long John had been treating Sam this way.

Making a mental note to return to that thought later, when Sam felt better, Dean rubbed Sam's saturated hair until he was satisfied that it was dry enough. Glancing at his watch, the time was only half twelve, but Sam was clearly completely worn out, despite the fact that he had awoken just hours ago. Dean lightly patted Sam's face with the towel, and Sam couldn't help but notice a blunt pain on his forehead from the contact. He grimaced at the discomfort, but Dean ignored it, pulling a clean, dry t-shirt over Sam's body.

"Come on" Dean gestured for Sam to lie in bed. Sam didn't protest, and, without covering himself with the blankets, lay on his back, finally looking at Dean. Dean swiftly collected up the wet towel, and pressed it against Sam's forehead, right where the pain had come from. _Of course, _Sam thought, realizing that he must have left a bump where he had bashed his head against the car earlier in frustration.

He'd left more than a bump, however, the impact had split the skin on Sam's forehead, allowing for the release of quite a heavy amount of blood. He hadn't realized in the rain, but the large gash had produced a strong flow of dark red liquid, which had since dried a little around the wound and his eyebrow.

Dean clicked his tongue, "Alright, hold that there for a sec" Dean left the room and returned not a minute later with some antiseptic cream and a gauze pad. Softly taking the towel out of Sam's hand, Dean wiped his head with the dry towel once more and carefully applied some cream. After dressing it with the gauze pad, he pulled the covers up and over Sam's body. He lingered over Sam for a moment, Sam just stared right back at him.

"We're gonna sort all this shit out Sammy, I promise you that." He pushed back the hair from Sam's face. "I'm gonna stay with you no matter what, ok? I'm goin' back out there with Bobby and… with Bobby and dad."  
"Dean?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Don't let him come in here" Sam whimpered, "please"  
The utter terror in Sam's voice stunned Dean; he couldn't imagine what John must have done to make Sam so permanently afraid of him. And right under his nose? Without him knowing? It just wasn't right. Dean sighed, pulling his face away so that Sam couldn't see him cry.

"I'm not gonna let him anywhere near you, Sammy. He's never gonna hurt you again."

Sam tried and tried to believe Dean's words, but he just knew, somehow, John would get to him.

And kill him.

_Sobbing uncontrollably, Sam was yelling now. "Stop! Please, I'm sorry!". Holding his hands in front of his face protectively, he took a few more blows to the chest and one to his chin. On the final punch, Sam's head fell backwards and he let out a cry. He now lay on the ground, motionless, but awake. His arms were sprawled out to his sides, and his right leg sat twisted in a painful fashion. Dazing in and out of consciousness, Sam blinked to clear his sight. John stood above him, a sick curve at either end of his lips told him it was all over. He had won. _

_John quickly moves his hands to his belt buckle, fumbling a little as he pulled his leather belt out of his jeans. _

"_On your knees."_

_Sam hesitated, hoping that John would suddenly just disappear. Unfortunately for Sam, he didn't.  
"NOW!"_

_Sam obeyed; he painfully knelt on his knees, and held his back straight. Looking down, he realized he was now shirtless, but his bruises had disappeared. _

_His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp whipping pain on his upper back. Sam knew better than to cry out, despite the pain; he squeezed his eyes shut and winced as the leather of the belt lashed into his skin. The _whip _sound in the air filled his ears each time the belt cracked onto his skin. After a series of about twenty lashings, Sam could hear John buckling his belt back on, a quiet laugh escaped his lips. Sam didn't dare move, until he watched John quiety close the door behind him as he exited the room. He collapsed forward into a heap on the floor, feeling the blood trickling down his searing back. He lay there for several more minutes, hoping the pain would become less intense, but it didn't. all of a sudden the door whooshed open, John furiously stomped into the room, holding something in his hand. _

"_You're so weak." John's words sounded familiar, but Sam couldn't quite figure out why. "Can't even handle a bit of rough play? What kind of hunter are you?" John rhetorically yelled to Sam, "You're no Winchester. You're pathetic" Sam was terrified, but he believed every word John said. It was true, he was weak._

_Sam sat up, grimacing as the skin on his back seemed to rip open even further. He realized what the object was in john's hand just as he pointed it at his head._

_It was a gun. More specifically, it was John's .44 magnum revolver, digging into Sam's forehead as John's finger tightened around the trigger. _

"_No, please. Dad!" Sam begged as John cruelly laughed._

_John pulled back the hammer on the gun. A tear rolled down Sam's cheek and he desperately looked John in the eyes, hoping that John would truly see his own son in some flicker of Sam's. It was no use. John did not see his son in Sam. It was too late. Hope was lost. _

"_Goodbye Sam." John sarcastically tormented as he laughed. _

_His finger slowly pulled back the trigger. Sam let out a muffled yell as the sound of a loud CRACK ripped through his ears, and then, nothing. _

"Sammy!" Dean yelled as he blasted through the door to their bedroom. Still only half awake, Sam was screaming so loud it could probably be heard a couple states away. The blankets that once covered Sam were scattered on the ground necxt to his bed, burying the pillow that Sam had been resting upon. Sam's hands were balled into tight fists, his knuckles white as blood was trickling down his wrists.  
"Hey, Sammy, hey! Wake up!" Dean shook Sam's shoulders violently, forgetting about his injuries for a brief moment. Sam didn't budge, but his screaming had stopped a little. Tears were pouring from his eyes and he was yelling words undecipherable. "SAM!" Dean yelled into Sam's ear, shaking him a little harder.

Sam stopped moving and quietened, his eyes blinking through the tears as he breathed so quickly it seemed as though he had been running nonstop for hours.  
"Dean?' he puffed.

"Yeah, man. You alright?" Dean couldn't mask the absolute horror in his voice. He had never seen Sam like this before. Dean assisted Sam as his propped himself up against the head of the bed.

He cringed, lifting his palms in front of his face so they were in his line of sight. He had dug his fingernails so deep into his palms that four, clear indentations from his fingers could be seen. The wounds curved with the shape of his fingernails, and blood had dripped from each one of them, except for the smallest ones on each hand, where his pinky, his weakest finger, had broken the skin but hadn't dug in deep engouh to bleed.

"Shit. Come on" Dean pulled him by the sleeves of his t-shirt up and led him to the bathroom. He turned on the sink and held Sam's hands under the running water. Sam hand's recoiled in pain, but Dean ignored his sudden movement and pulled his palms back under the stream. The water in the sink diluted a pinkish red colour and twirled down the drain. Sam's wounds continued to bleed but the older blood had been washed away. Dean opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out two small rolls of bandage. He wrapped the bandage repeatedly around Sam's palm, tight enough to halt the blood loss but ensured it was not so tight as to cut off his circulation.

"thanks" Sam said as Dean finished off his second hand. He sighed in relief, the bandages muted the pain a little.

"S'alright." Dean responded, slapping Sam lightly on the shoulder. "There we go; all done." The brothers walked back to their bedroom, and Sam sat on Dean's bed. Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms corssed in front of his chest.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Sam returned, hoping Dean wouldn't hear the fear in his voice. He should have known better, this was Dean after all. Dean knew Sam better than he knew himself.

"You know what I mean Sammy. What was it? A nightmare?"  
Sam sighed in defeat. "Sort of. I guess, more like a memory."

"A memory of what?" Dean asked, but he knew what Sam was going to say before thew words left his mouth.

Sam looked at the ground and played with the bandage on his left hand. "Dad…"  
dean uncrossed his arms and joined Sam on the bed, sitting next to him.

"Tell me what happened."  
"It doesn't matter, Dean. It's over."  
"Damn straight it's over. You gotta know Sam, he's never comin' near you again. You understand that? I'm not gonna let him."

"You can't stop him Dean. He's stronger than you, and me."

"Sammy, hey! Sam!" Dean demanded until Sam gave him his undivided attention. Looking him in the eyes, "No he isn't. He's weak. You honestly think beating on a kid makes him strong? He wouldn't dare try and get past me, or Bobby for that matter. Not after all he's done"

Sam wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm not a kid" Sam laughed, a little embarrassed by the beginnings of a chick-flick moment.

Dean smiled, "I know"

Sam sighed, hating to ruin the moment of escape from talking about John. But he had to know, "Where is he?"  
Dean exhaled, "he's gone, Sam."

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"I mean Bobby and I kicked him out. Told him either he could show himself out or we'd make him. Needless to say he scrambled." Dean laughed without humor

Sam didn't respond, he didn't have to.

"Come on, lets get you somethin' to eat" Dean said, as he led Sam out of their room to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi guys, I am so so sorry for how long it took me to update this chapter, I've been suffering from some severe writer's block. This chapter is quite short, but it just felt right to end it when I did. Next chapter should be up ASAP; I'm working on it at the moment. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and anything recognizable belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke.**

**Please keep reviewing, and thankyou to everyone who's been reading so far! Hope you enjoy this chapter **

Dean and Sam sat comfortably at the dining table, as Sam ravenously devoured the sandwich Dean had prepared for him, and Dean scratched at a food stain on the table, drinking a beer.

The TV was going in the lounge room, but neither brother was watching the screen. Dean continued to watch Sam as he ate, surveying Sam's face for any hidden bruises that he may not have noticed before. But he found nothing, there were no hidden bruises on Sam's face, _that bastard played it safe, didn't go near his face, _Dean thought, viciously thinking of what he would have said to his father if he'd had the chance.

Maybe it was best, that John just left like that. No yelling, no fighting, just, gone.

Still, Dean couldn't help but regret all the unspoken words that went unheard to John's ears. So much pent up anger, it almost felt like it was flooding his mind. So many questions were left unanswered, though Dean figured it was unlikely that John would respond honestly anyway.

As Dean's gaze moved further down his younger brother's face, he noticed two deep yellow oval bruises curving in towards each other on the front of Sam's neck. Gradually, Dean began to understand how it was Sam had gained those bruises, and Dean stood up sharply from his seat, the sound of the chair scraping against the ground startling Sam a little. Sam looked curiously into Dean's now slightly squinting eyes and he walked towards him, and softly cupped his right cheek in his palm. Dean pushed Sam's face to the side in order to better see the bruises on Sam's neck as Sam grunted in discomfort, but showed no resistance. Dean suddenly noticed the two purpling, larger bruises on either side. Sam had undeniably figured out what exactly is what Dean was looking at now, and he awkwardly brushed Dean's hands away with fumbling hands, his mind only gradually beginning to coordinate itself with Sam's outrageously growing body. Dean swatted Sam's hands away once more and continued to investigate the bruises.

"When did he do this to you?" he asked Sam through his teeth, who now looked at his toes in order to escape Dean's sorrowful gaze that was laced with absolute fury.

Sam hesitated a little before responding quietly, "last night". Sam could almost hear the shock in Dean's mind when he discovered that Sam's beatings had been so recent that he was actually attacked by John not 24 hours earlier. Even worse for Dean was the thought that he had in fact been present – he was in the house the entire night, at the very moment when John had done this to his brother.

"Last…last night?" Dean whispered as he sat back down, defeated. Sam didn't respond, and Dean looked uncomfortably down at the tabletop, trying anything to escape the vivid imagery that seeing the bruises on Sam's neck had emerged.

Dean clenched his jaw, attempting to restrain his anger, when Sam finally spoke.

"He knew that you knew something was going on" Dean looked up at the realization that John had beaten Sam as a result of his actions. Sam, knowing his brother far too well for his own good, understood completely what Dean was thinking as the words left his mouth. But now was not the time for Sam to sugar coat the reality of the situation in order to retain Dean's peace of mind. Sam had to be honest now, if anything. He needed to do that for Dean.

"It's not your fault you know Dean? I mean, he didn't exactly make it obvious" Sam added, laughing without humor.

"Don't give me that, I should have known Sammy!" Dean yelled as he stood up with force, the anger that had built up over the past day's events finally coming out. "I should have realized what he was doing to you. I was in the same house for Chrissake!" Sam continued to look down, ashamed of the broken peace that had erupted in the household because of what he'd done.

When Sam offered no response, Dean seemed to calm a little – or at least conducted himself engouh to repress the anger once more.

"Im sorry, about everything. Im sorry I didn't know. I could've helped you."

"But you did! You did help me!" Sam added, desperately trying to remove the guilt from his brother. The truth of the matter was, no matter how much Sam blamed his father and himself for what John had been doing, he never blamed Dean, not once. "You got rid of him!"

"Not soon enough Sammy, not soon enough." Dean muttered, seating himself on the couch and burying his face in his hands, facing away from his brother. Looking Sam in the eyes would only make Dean feel worse, would only expose the pain that Sam tried so hard to hide. Sam knew that his feeble attempts to prove Dean was not guilty went unheard, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. Slowly, Sam moved himself from his seat at the table and wandered over to the couch. Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, he longed for some sort of physical contact with his older brother, the very touch that made him feel like nothing in this world could ever harm him, that he was safe.

Despite feeling a little childish, Sam lay himself down so that his head rested in Dean's lap. Burying his hair into Dean's thigh, Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair softly, soothing his pained little brother. A single tear escaped from his eye, but he quickly wiped it away. The last thing Sam needed to see was that Dean's heart was breaking every time he looked at Sam, knowing the potential for damage that John could have – and probably did – cause. Thankful to share this moment with Sam, Dean securely locked away the memory deep within his mind, glad that, despite everything, Sam was with him, safe and sound.


End file.
